


Two Ghosts

by whimperinglou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry Styles: the debut album, M/M, Two Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimperinglou/pseuds/whimperinglou
Summary: Never once during the first two years with Louis did Harry doubt that they’d make it. There wasn’t a single piece of unsureness, of hesitation. They were going to marry each other, they were endgame. Harry knew in the bottom of his heart when he was seventeen that it was all he’d ever want. All he’d ever need.And now he sits on their kitchen floor with the same man in his arms and suddenly he’s not at all that sure any more.Or, Two Ghosts is the next single and their relationship has not always been great.





	Two Ghosts

_December, 2013_

Harry meets up with him at Heathrow, he’s just landed in London after being in New York for a week, and Louis arrives with the plane from LA an hour later. He’s in one of the VIP-rooms with his security guard when Louis walks through the door, in sweatpants, his usual white t-shirt and a beanie covering most of his hair. He looks tired and jet lagged, just as Harry does himself. Though, that’s how both of them have looked for the past half a year now. Constantly exhausted.

He wraps his arms around him, curls his entire body around Louis and forces him to shrug his backpack off his shoulders so Harry can hug him tighter. The small hands fist his sweatshirt and a cold nose presses into his neck as they rock back and forth in the middle of the room. Ten days since they last saw each other. Harry pulls back so he can kiss him, only to be interrupted by Louis’ guard clearing his throat.

“Yeah, right, save that for later, boys. Let’s get you home.”

 

They come through the door around nine thirty that evening, with heavy suitcases and even heavier eyelids. Louis locks the door behind them, makes sure the gate is closed and the cameras in the garden are on, as Harry carries their luggage upstairs. It’s oddly quiet when he drops it all on the middle of their bedroom floor, and tries to breathe in the smell of being home. It doesn’t work, everything smells too clean and more like a hotel room, there’s nothing except from his own knowledge to testify that this is the place where two people live. Ten months. For ten long months, no one but the cleaning staff have moved across these floors. Home.

He ignores the knot in his chest as he walks over to the window and opens it to let in some fresh air. It’ll do good, he believes. If they just eat something, get some sleep and unpack in the morning, he will in no time feel everything ease again, he’s sure of it. Soon enough, he’ll feel his tense shoulders sink and the familiarity of being back _home_ , at _their_ place, will hit him and make him relax. It just takes time, when you’ve been away for so long and then suddenly comes back, he tells himself. Ten months.

He hears Louis talking on the phone when he comes back downstairs, and judging by the tone of his voice he’s ordering pizza. Harry shoots him a smile as he walks into the kitchen and finds him by the open window, making their orders as a cigarette hangs between his two fingers. Good idea, their fridge is as empty as it can get, and apart from the bread in the freezer and the tea bags in the cupboard, there is absolutely no food. There is no reason for it to be, not a single person has used the kitchen since February.

Louis hangs up and looks over at Harry, who’s still leaning against the counter as he watches him.

“Got you pepperoni,” he says and takes a long drag of the cigarette. Harry wants to tell him to quit it, the house smells weirdly enough without the smoke clinging to the walls, but he’s too worn-out to even think about starting an argument. Instead he nods as he pushes himself off the counter to go and grab Louis’ laptop from his backpack still laying on the floor in the hallway. He spends the upcoming five minutes trying to figure out how to make the thing connect to a TV that hasn’t been used, much less updated, in ten months. The pizza will be there soon and he knows they’re both too tired to make something more out of this evening than watching an old episode of Breaking Bad. Eventually he manages to make the TV connect to Netflix and sinks back against the pillows on the couch. He pats the dark green pillow beside him awkwardly, and tries to make himself ease up a bit, stop the stress that’s making his body itchy. 

Louis comes in after a few minutes, pauses in front of the coffee table and stretches his arms over his head, back cracking as he lets out a puff of air.

“It feels weird,” he mumbles, once he’s sat beside Harry on the couch, all curled up against his side and with his feet covered in the thick, blue Captain America blanket he got from Liam last Christmas to keep his toes from freezing. Harry doesn’t have to ask what he means. He gets it.

“I know,” he replies with a sigh and runs his fingertips down Louis’ arm.

“It’s been like, what, nine months? Almost ten? Since we lived together… here,” Louis continues, gaze fixated on the screen even though he’s so obviously not paying any attention.

Harry presses his nose into Louis’ hair and nods. Ten months on the road. He’s loved every single minute of it, he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t. Touring is the part of the job he truly loves with his entire body. Though, he’s been homesick for a while now. And he knows Louis has too. Because even if they’ve been together most of the time, it has never been just the two of them other than at the nights at the hotel rooms. Any other time they’ve been constantly surrounded by other people. The boys, the touring team, the fans, the interviewers, the people in charge for the arena they arrived to, the paps.

“We’ve been a bit in LA together,” Harry tries, even though that was just for two days and they spent most of that time sleeping away the jet lag from Australia. It doesn’t count, because even though they have a house in LA too, as well as they have a second overnight flat here in London, and one in New York, it doesn’t count as home like this place does.

This is home because it’s their stuff laying around and their clothes in the wardrobes and their pictures on the walls. It’s home because it’s the only place they’ve decorated by themselves, the only place they’ve bought furniture to, the house which replaced their first flat together. This is home because this is what they mean when they say they’re homesick, when the bunks in the bus become too small and the need for something else than a hotel room grows. This is home because now when they have _real_ time off for the first time in ten months, they came back without a second thought.

Louis shrugs at that and leans more into Harry’s side. “Yeah, I guess,” he mumbles as he lets Harry run his fingers through his hair.

They sit like that, in their living room, a place that all of sudden feels too big for them, after spending the last half a year in a tour bus, until the pizza arrives and Louis untangles himself from Harry to go and get it for them. Then they sit crossed legged as they eat the greasy pizza and chat about something Harry can’t really pay much attention to, the knot in his chest takes up way too much space.

It’s only a bit past ten when they’re done and the leftovers are stuffed into the empty fridge. As Harry keeps carding his fingers through Louis’ hair he tries so hard to ignore the uneasy feeling growing inside him. The uncomfortable, numb knot tying up in his chest that all new places give him, whether it’s a hotel room or a new arena. They’re home. But everything is so quiet. They’re home, though the pictures on the walls seem misplaced and look all weird. They’re home, watching Netflix in their own couch for the first time in so many months, and all Harry can think about is that he hasn’t seen Louis in ten days and nothing is like it should be after that long apart. They’re home and should be all over each other, instead Louis’ body is dead weight pressed against him. They’re home, and how terrifying isn’t it, to feel so numb in your own house.

But they’re home, so maybe it’ll be better in the morning.

 

He makes it until eleven until he asks Louis if they should go to bed.

He’s tired, though not the tired which fades away after a good night’s sleep. No, they’re both exhausted from being on the road for so long, worn-out in a way that makes the heart feel like dead weight in the chest, makes it hard to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat. Still, Harry’s already starting to feel the restlessness in his limbs as they climb up the stairs together. The stress that comes with sitting down for too long, the anxiety that comes with having nothing to do, nowhere to be. The angst you don’t feel until you stop.

They brush their teeth beside one another and don’t have to squeeze tight together to make both their faces fit in the mirror. They undress and Louis throws his clothes into a pile by the foot of the bed while Harry hangs his jeans over the armchair. After pulling the curtains down he crawls into bed – their bed, the one they went to pick out when they first got together, king sized with a soft mattress and white expensive sheets. And despite the fact that there’s plenty of space for both of them, Louis still shuffles over to Harry’s side and he gets a smaller body curled up against him as three quarters of the space is left empty. Fucking king sized mattress, why on earth did they think they would need that. He rolls over to let Louis spoon him because that’s how he always does it, that’s how they always do.

Used to, it’s been a while since they slept together.

 

They don’t always share a room at hotels. In reality, each time they get separate rooms, like the rest of the boys. Though, ever since the X Factor, they made sure to not sleep alone. Up until this tour, that is.

It hits you eventually, Harry has realised. It doesn’t matter the slightest if you’re the most extrovert person on the planet, sooner or later you’ll find the need to be alone. To have a bath alone, to brush your teeth alone, to lay in bed alone and watch a stupid documentary on Animal Planet alone. It hits you eventually, and three years was eventually for Louis and Harry.

It didn’t happen every night, but sometimes Louis stayed on the bus, and sometimes Harry actually used his own key card to his rooms. It didn’t happen every night but as further away from home they got, the longer the tour kept going, the more energy it sucked out - the more exhausted their eyes felt in the morning, the more alone time was needed for them both. So now, they don’t always share a hotel room.

Actually, when Harry thinks about it, it’s about three weeks since the last time he was about to fall asleep in this way, with Louis’ arms around him. It’s also about three weeks since they had proper sex. And before that even longer, because through the North America leg of the tour they spend so much time on the bus, and it was impossible to do anything more than occasionally innocent kissing in front of the other boys.

 

It takes them both a long time to fall asleep. Neither of them say anything, however both can feel the other’s uneven breathing and restless body needing to move a little every five minutes. Many five minutes passes until Harry feels the sleep make its way through his body. The last thing he remembers is Louis’ lips pressed between his shoulder blades and a smaller hand gripping onto Harry’s like he’s afraid to let go. It’s okay, Harry thinks as his eyelids become too heavy to keep open, it’s okay, it’ll feel like home soon.

 

Louis has never been great at tiptoeing. On second thought, neither has he been great at staying quiet in general, he’s always making the door crack or fumbles around with the sheets. Usually Harry wakes up for just a few seconds or so before he falls back into sleep, whenever Louis uses to loo or goes to get a bottle of water in the middle of the night. Although, tonight is different. When he hears Louis not that quietly tiptoeing out of the room, he slowly sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. As he rubs the back of his neck and tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, he listens to the sound of his boyfriend making his way down the stairs. Small pads from his bare feet. Harry looks around a little in the bedroom, and shakes his head because Louis didn’t bother with putting any clothes on apparently. Knowing him, he’ll be cold as ice when he gets back and bug Harry about it, that’s one thing for sure.

Eventually he stands up as well and pulls on his boxers. He grabs the sweater he wore last night when they got home, the grey big one with fluff on the inside that he doesn’t get to keep for himself very often, it’s always one of the boys – mostly Louis – who steals it. With the sweater folded over his arm he grabs a pair of fluffy socks from the drawer and makes his way through the stairs as well.

It would have been pitch black in the house, if it wasn’t for the full moon and the street lights slipping through the big windows. When stepping into the kitchen, his eyes burn as they try to get used to the cold fridge light that washes over the room. Louis stands there, with the door handle in his hand and tired eyes scanning the empty-apart-from-leftover-pizza fridge.

Harry leans against the door frame as he watches, meanwhile Louis doesn’t pay him any attention. Staring at the fridge, he just stands there, until he eventually shuts his eyes and closes the door. The only source of light left in is the moon coming through the window, dancing over Louis’ naked body, making him look even smaller, even thinner, even more fragile. Harry still hates himself for not noticing earlier on when Louis started to lose weight this summer, he forgot to eat and replaced food with cigarettes and Red Bull, until he wasted away. Even though Louis has said a million times that it has nothing to do with Harry, both know that it’s partly a lie. Although, it’s not like Harry could have done much, especially when on the road. Louis chooses what to eat and don’t eat himself, and with the fucked up eating and sleeping routines it’s not that much of a surprise that he faded when he started smoking. The only thing Harry could’ve done was being more present, checked on Louis a little more often. However, he doubts that’d have made any difference.

He’s still beautiful though, Harry will always find him so beautiful. Even now, when they haven’t yet had a shower after being on the plane for ten hours, when he’s got dark circles under his eyes, when he’s clenching and unclenching his fists as he always does when he’s starting to get restless. Even now, when he wiggles his toes because they’re getting cold against the dark wood floor. Harry finds him so beautiful.

As he stands there and waits for Louis to acknowledge his presence, he desperately tries to understand why the weird, anxious knot in his chest hasn’t yet untied. Why doesn’t he feel at peace, why is he looking at Louis and wondering how he’ll act once their eyes meet? Why does the house feel weirdly quiet, when it’s the single place he’s been missing on and off for the last ten months? Why is he stressing about having a break with Louis, his boyfriend, at home, for an entire week before they’re driving up to Doncaster and Holmes Chapel to celebrate Christmas? He’s been counting down the days to get home, to just cuddle and do Christmas shopping and cook food and have proper sex and unpack the suitcases for at least a couple of days. He’s been counting down the days and in all of sudden he’s here, watching the man he loves, and wonders why on earth it doesn’t feel like enough.

This was all they used to need.

Just the two of them, a place to call home, a bed to sleep in, and perhaps a bit of take away.

This was all they used to need.

What can ten months on the road do to you? Harry has no idea. But before this year, how could he ever have known? This was their first proper world tour, and all he knows now is that the _Where We Are Tour_ is just a few months away and it’s too soon. They’re not ready.

After what seems like a life time but is probably not more than about three, quiet minutes, Louis turns around and reaches out for the sweater Harry’s holding. He quietly slips it over his head and holds onto Harry’s arm as he balances on one leg to put on the socks.

“I’m hungry,” he says quietly, the voice breaking through the air between them like a tornado, making it feel too loud and misplaced in the quiet, unfamiliar house. Harry almost frowns at him for a split second before he meets Louis’ exhausted eyes for the first time since he came downstairs. He catches his rambling thoughts the moment his heart starts sinking in his chest, making all the bones in his body ache. Because never once, as long as they’ve known each other, has he thought of Louis’ voice as too loud or misplaced. He’s never thought anything about Louis’ voice other than wonderful things, and now… now he feels like if they talk he won’t be able to stand either of their voices.

Maybe Louis gets it, because when the eye contact is broken he presses his lips together and lets go of Harry’s arm.

If there’s burning behind his eyes when he nods and puts on a kettle, then no one but himself will know. If there’s a sniffle slipping past his lips when he digs through the freezer to find the old bread slices and a jar of frozen jam, then Louis pretends not to notice. If there’s a murdering noise from the microwave as he heats the poor food, then at least it’s a good cover up for the second sniffle. He has his back turned to Louis as he puts jam on the bread and wipes the tears that managed to escape through his thick walls of protection.

This was all they used to need.

He takes more time than he needs to put the bread on a plate and pour the tea into the cup. They don’t have any milk, so he doubts Louis will drink it, but at least it’s something. When he eventually turns around he’s collected the food in his hands as well as himself and takes the few steps towards Louis where’s he’s sitting on one of the bar stools by the window. He’s playing with his package of cigarettes, letting it slide over the wood on the table and then picks it up to flip it over. He’s probably in need for a smoke, Harry can see it in his restless fingers. But he won’t, because he can’t smoke at three am in the morning or else he’ll most likely throw up. He’s tried before, and Harry was there to rub his back, just as he will if Louis decides to try again tonight.

He sets down the poor plate and even poorer tea in front of him. Louis sees his trembling hands and if he thinks something about it then he’s kind enough not to comment on it. Instead he shoots Harry a small smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes, and Harry brushes Louis’ fridge out of his forehead with light fingers as he wonders why he’s not as happy as he used to be.

Last Christmas was awful, that's one for sure, all the shit with Taylor and the bullshit tweet and basically falling asleep to the sound of Louis' muffled crying on the phone every single night for weeks and weeks.

But when they were home last year, before the tour, nothing was awful. It was the two of them, finally being able to show their love and affection towards each other, stealing kisses whenever they pleased, having as loud and messy sex as they wanted, or as quiet and peaceful as they needed. It was homemade meals and having Gemma, Anne and Robin over. It was going ice skating in another town where no one knew who they were, it was having a picnic in the living room because it was too freezing to have it outside. It was throwing a party with all of their closest friends and getting so wasted that they could barely make their way to the bed. It was fighting over which one of them who should clean the bathroom, it was arguments about whether or not the silk blue couch Harry found online would fit into the guest room on the bottom floor. It was normality. It was shit sometimes, and it was paps and rumours and bullshit in media. But in their little bubble inside their house, none of that got to them. Nothing was able to reach them.

The tour ended almost one and a half month ago. But then it was _1D Day_ and endless promotion for their new album, which they had somehow managed to finish during this hectic year of traveling.

Louis leans into his touch with closed eyes while Harry tilts his head back and swallows down the knot in his chest that has found its way up his throat by now, making it harder to properly breathe. He continues to card his fingers through Louis’ hair, simply because he’s so scared one of them will say something if he sits down on the other side of the table. Louis eventually let his head rest against Harry’s bare chest, making the knot in his throat ease up a bit, only to grow again when he feels the wetness from Louis’ cheek against his skin.

This was all they used to need.

They haven’t been… great, the last couple of months. It has been less and less conversation, less laughter, less hanging out just the two of them, and more of seeing each other briefly during the days, doing the shows at night and then getting the post-show adrenaline out between the sheets.

Not to mention the fact that they both went separate ways to see friends in different parts of the States for over a week instead of going immediately home like the rest of the boys when they finally got a break. Maybe Harry is naïve, but he really thought everything would fall back into normal as soon as they stepped through their front door. They’d fall into the habits of being in love, being in a proper relationship, as soon as these walls they choose together swallowed them. His hands would be all over Louis’ body, his heart filled with need and his brain focused on loving him and him only. Naïve or not, he could never imagine his fingers would feel as numb and hesitant running through Louis’ soft hair as they do now.

Louis must feel it too, because a sniffle slips past his lips when Harry’s fingers accidentally stop for half a second. Harry is terrified of saying a word, he’s terrified of what might come. An argument. A fight. A confession. Or worse. He’s so scared of mentioning anything that can suggest that they’re not okay.

This is not how they used to be.

All couples have their ups and downs and after two and a half years, it’s been countless of fights and arguments and one serious discussion about taking a break. Though, nothing like this. Because all of the other times Harry knew in his heart that they’d fix it somehow. He didn’t know who he was without Louis, and he knew Louis needed him equally as much. This time is different, because they’ve been quiet for so long, none of them have said anything in so many months. Ignored the cracks between them for as long as possible, and when the cracks became too real they made effortless attempts to fix it all with a few kisses and sex.

Harry’s shoulders are shaking by the time he pulls Louis off the chair and sinks down with him on the floor. His knees give out beneath him and he doesn’t want to go down alone, he can’t, not yet. They slump against the wall, Louis curls up in his lap and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders as Harry buries his head in Louis’ neck. He feels his face getting wet by the constant flow of tears spilling over and the way Louis trembles in his arms doesn’t help at all. When he tries to pull Louis even closer and hold him even tighter to make his body stop shudder all he gets as a response is a broken sob against his shoulder, which echoes through the cold kitchen and makes the knot in Harry’s throat almost make its way up.

“Baby-” his voice cracks before he’s even managed to get half of the word out, and Louis just shakes his head and presses his fingertips harder into Harry’s skin. Harry’s only in his boxers and there’s nothing for Louis to hold onto, so his hands try desperately to get under Harry’s skin. He pulls and scratches and tries so hard to get closer, almost like he’s being close to drowning.

In the air hangs his cracked voice, making the room feel even bigger, even wider, ever colder and for a short moment, when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t recognise in which part of the kitchen they’re sitting.

Louis is not close enough. He’s all wrapped up around Harry and their chests are pressed so tight together it’s almost hard to breathe, and he’s not _close_ enough. Harry has his face in Louis’ neck, desperately tries to suck in breath after breath, just to feel the scent of Louis tickling in his nose. Nothing happens, instead he smells airplane and cigarettes and it’s nothing like Louis _at all_. A sudden outburst of panic raises in his chest as he tries to breathe in more and more of Louis, his lungs are burning because he doesn’t let any air out, he just keeps inhaling until he feels like he might explode. All he needs is the scent of Louis. Of his Louis. His heart is a numb rock in his chest and his shoulders are shaking so badly, there’s a ringing in his ears which doesn’t stop.

He can’t find him. Louis is right here in his arms and Harry has no idea where he needs to start looking.

It hurts when Louis tugs harshly on his curls and pulls him away from his neck. When the cold air hits his hot wet face it _burns_ , just as much as his lungs burn when he finally exhales and Louis presses their foreheads together.

“Breathe, you fucking idiot,” Louis cracks out and his blue eyes are all bloodshot and puffy, there’s rosy spots over his neck and throat like always when he’s been crying for too long. His lips are swollen from nervously biting them and there’s a wrinkle between his brows as he scans Harry’s face. He almost knocks the breath out of Harry’s lungs once more.

God, he _misses_ him.

Harry tries to exhale again but it comes out as a sob that’s been tickling in the back of his throat for way too long now. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the panic in Louis’ eyes. The constant panic, the stress in Harry’s chest that’s been there for so long now, every single time he’s had Louis in his arms. It feels like when you miss a step while walking down the stairs, and your heart and lungs are about to jump out of your body. Constantly, for so many months when they’ve not been okay, Harry has felt just that certain panic. Like he keeps missing steps.

“H… Harry, it-it’s okay, we can fix this,” Louis whispers but not even his voice could calm Harry down right now. Instead he has a sudden impulse to pull away from him, get as far as away as possible, it hurts too much, _god_ it burns him. Eats him from the inside. Everything scratches and Louis is not _close enough_. “Baby-” Louis tries again and when his voice breaks for a second time Harry can’t take it anymore.

Never once during the first two years with Louis did Harry doubt that they’d make it. There wasn’t a single piece of unsureness, of hesitation. They were going to marry each other, they were endgame. After they’d had the time of their life in the band they would build a nice little family together. Harry knew in the bottom of his heart when he was seventeen that it was all he’d ever want. All he’d ever need.

And now he sits on their kitchen floor with the same man in his arms and suddenly he’s not at all that sure any longer.

He buries his face in Louis’ neck once more, without trying to breathe in the scent of him this time. Instead he just holds him so tight, as close as he possibly can, and ignores how familiar every single curve of Louis’ body feels in his arms.

It’s not his love for Louis he doubts. Harry’s pretty satisfied with the fact that no one will ever be able to love Louis as much, as intense, and as whole heartily as he does. No one. And it’s not their love that’s the problem.

Because it was all they used to need.

They sit like that until Harry’s bum is cold against the kitchen floor, until Louis is shivering despite wearing the warm sweatshirt. Until there is no more tears to let out. Until his eyes are oversensitive and itchy from all the crying, so every blink feels like too much. Until the knot in his throat has grown to a point where it’s just a constant press over his chest, like someone has tried to squeeze him into a way too small t-shirt. Until their edgy breaths at the top of their lungs are replaced by normal breathing. Until every exhale doesn’t feel like the last anymore.

The clock on the microwave shows four thirteen am when Harry finally dares to glance at it. If it was summer, the sun would be sipping through the windows by now and they’d hear the birds singing in the garden. Though, summer is far away, and Harry has forgotten how warmth feels. Instead the pitch black sky still swallows their neighbourhood, and even the moon’s light seems to start feeling tired, because it fades and abandons Harry and Louis on the kitchen floor.

Against Harry’s collarbone there’s still hot breathings and every ten minutes or so, a new flood of tears well up. Soon they dry out though, because there is a limit to how much crying a human body can go through in one short, lifelong hour.

Sometime after Harry has started running his fingers through Louis’ hair again, the room finally shrinks and goes back to its normal state. The walls are no longer that far apart, and the door frame on the other side of the room doesn’t feel like a marathon away anymore.

It doesn’t matter which one of them who started moving first, who got up from the floor and pulled the other with them. There’s no significance in knowing who took the first, Bambi-like steps over the floor, or climbed the first mountain known as the premier step of the stairs. Just know, that it eventually happened. Eventually they had hauled each other up from the hole. Nothing was okay anymore, everything was shattered into pieces, destroyed the second Harry dragged Louis down with him because his legs and heart couldn’t hold it any longer. It doesn’t matter if Louis didn’t spoon Harry again that night, and instead allowed Harry hold him for once, as he let the final, quiet tears sink into the Harry’s skin. And it certainly does not matter if the knot in Harry’s chest only had grown.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis and lets him move around for several minutes until he is comfortable, with his still clothed feet pressed between Harry’s calves and his head tucked under Harry’s chin. Normally, Louis hates feeling small, he always has. Right now though, it simply doesn’t matter. As Harry buries his nose into the feather soft, light brown locks he tells himself that for tonight, he’ll let everything be broken. The dawn is already creeping through the curtains, the press over his chest hasn’t eased the slightest, and he knows they’re both preparing for a fight, or a talk, or an end to everything in just a few hours.

This is not who they used to be.

And the numb press tightens over Harry’s chest

as he tries to remember how it feels

to have

a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, this was my tribute to Two Ghosts, and more or less how I imagined their relationship back in the days. I hope it was okay, and since English is not my first language I apologise if there’s any grammar misses me and my beta reader were unable to catch. If you enjoyed, a comment or a kudo would mean everything, and constructive feedback is always welcomed!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://whimperinglou.tumblr.com/), come and say hi! 


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